


"No one will love you if you're unattractive."

by strangerthings011



Category: Cry Baby - Melanie Martinez (Album)
Genre: F/F, Sad, Song: Mrs. Potato Head (Melanie Martinez), Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangerthings011/pseuds/strangerthings011
Summary: A sort of description or analyzation of Melanie Martinez's music video for her single Mrs. Potato Head. It's about plastic surgery, its consequences, and the struggle for beauty in the modern world itself, and people who succumb to these pressures. I figure this is what was going through Crybaby's head in the video.
Relationships: Crybaby/Melanie Martinez
Kudos: 6





	"No one will love you if you're unattractive."

Crybaby brushes her china doll’s hair while she sits on the carpet, then stares at it. Its lips are so red and puckered up, its hair so blonde and perfect, its eyes so blue and clear. She lifts the tiny doll’s mirror and sees herself in it. Crybaby thinks that she’s beautiful, but her master thinks otherwise…

A commercial is on the black and white television. It shows a girl, beautiful, just like the doll, and she’s eating a pill that’s supposed to make her body thinner than it already is. A lot of these ads have been on nowadays, and Crybaby has always wondered why no one makes these pills and medicines for men. Why are women imperfect and men aren’t?

Crybaby looks at her body and is disappointed. Her chest is flat, and her waist is large, unlike the girls on the television. She hears footsteps and hurries to the bathroom before he arrives.

Mascara streaming down her face, she grabs bunches of tissues and stuffs them up her dress, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. A waxy lipstick is rolled all over her lips and she puts on her blonde, curly wig. Whole body quivering, she forces the revolting diet pill down her throat, and tries to reassure herself that she looks pretty. Lipstick smudged and mascara running down, Crybaby walks out of the bathroom slowly, and settles down on the floor, breathing shakily as her favorite show starts.

A woman knocks on the door of her rich husband, yellow and peach flowers in hand. A beautiful smile lights up her face when she sees him, and he welcomes her into his mansion. They sit down into her bed, and the first present he gives her is a pearl necklace. He helps her fasten it, moving her curly, dark hair out of the way. It frames her face perfectly, and she thanks him for it many times. Quietly, the woman’s husband passes her a little piece of paper. 9am Facelift, it reads. She looks at the card in disbelief, smile fading. He tries to excite her, and she uncomfortably curves her lips upward and says she’ll happily go. I thought I was pretty enough…

She swallows the pill he’s recommended to her, turns her light off, and falls asleep. The next morning, the woman wakes up to the dreaded appointment. She’s in her nightwear, admiring her body in the mirror. But as she looks, she spots flaws, defects, blemishes...they get bigger and bigger, until all she can see is the bad things. She hastily puts her clothes on, a tear dropping from her eye.

Wringing her hands, the woman watches her husband pull out a wad of cash for her surgery. All this cash...just to make me look better? She closes her eyes in anguish as he prods and squishes her face, little marks drawn with pen all around her face.

And then she is asleep, the anaesthetic injected. A rabbit doctor appears, a menacing syringe in his paw. He sticks it into both of her lips, almost inflating them. Crybaby stares in horror at the television as the doctor slowly peels off her cheek skin. He cuts it with scissors, as if it’s just a piece of paper, and adds a new fake skin. Gloves on, he peels off the skin of her forehead too. A bloody slit is made with a sharp knife in her breasts, and he stuffs scrunched-up balls of material inside them.

The musty, grey hospital corridor is empty, until they appear. The doctor, pushing a metal wheelchair and a rusty life support machine along. In the wheelchair is the woman, her whole face bandaged up apart from her lips and eyes. Her eyes flit backwards and forwards, afraid to see her new face.

The woman is told she is not allowed to take her bandages off for the whole day much to her annoyance, and she lays in her bed, silky nightgown crushed, exasperated by the severity of it all. Her eyes close as she dreams of being perfect…

As she sleeps, her husband snips little locks of her hair off, thinking he has given her an amazing new haircut. She wakes up a few hours later, still groggy, and goes to see herself in the mirror. Her mouth forms into an “o” of shock as she grasps her hair. It has been mutilated, and she only hopes for her face to be better.

Her rich husband appears, reassuring her. Thrilled, he carefully unties the bandages, but his face falls when he sees her. He tries to mask it, hiding her from the mirror. The surgery had failed. Her lips were unnaturally large and ballooned, and she struggled to breathe between them. The skin that had once been pearly and baby-soft was now blue, rough and leathery. The facelift had failed most of all, her cheekbones thrusting out of her flesh.

Her heart pounding, the woman looks in the mirror and suppresses the urge to scream. If she had been ugly back then she was definitely ugly now. She grabs her wig and props it on her spoiled hair, and touches her face. Well, there’s no going back now…

Holding in her tears, she frantically applies orange lipstick as memories of her old self arise. She had been so happy, so carefree, so beautiful...and now it was all ruined. Fucking ruined.

Throwing off her gown, she smoothes down her patterned dress, wipes her eyes, fixes her wig and tries to smile. Maybe, just maybe, she could fix this mess. A plan was already being devised in her head: she would go back to the surgery place and pay for her face to be fixed. Yes, that’s what she’d do. But then all of a sudden, she hears a sound. Peals of laughter are coming from outside, and the woman, heart full of dread, opens her curtains to see. Outside was her husband, making heart-eyes at a woman in a yellow dress. She smiles back at him, her hands in his. From behind his back, he thrusts out the flowers she had given him two days ago and presses them into her palms.

The woman puts a shaking hand to her mouth as the realization washes over her body like ice water. She can’t go back now. Cupping her disfigured face, she sinks down on the floor, sobbing.

Tears on her cheeks, Crybaby pulls off her wig. She throws the tissues in her dress on the carpet and smudges her lipstick. “No one will love you if you’re unattractive.” She whispers to herself, chest heaving.


End file.
